


Sleeper

by somewherealight



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Clone-napping, FFXV Minibang 2019, Gen, Handwavy Starscourge Experimentation, MT Unit 05953234, Spy!Prompto, Traitor!Prompto, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewherealight/pseuds/somewherealight
Summary: Magitek Unit 05953234 has been deployed.Directives: report to the Argentum household, integrate, gain footing with the Lucian Prince, and await activation.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70
Collections: FFXV Minibang 2019





	Sleeper

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the ffxv minibang 2019! All the love to Owlymerlin who is an absolutely wonderful human being to work with and created [this beautiful artwork](https://twitter.com/Octomerls/status/1256623157865308160) for it.

Prompto was, like, 72 percent sure that he was being watched. It wasn’t so much that he had _seen_ anything or _heard_ anything as it was a _feeling—_ a prickle on the back of his neck and static ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He’d felt it yesterday too, on his way home from the convenience store two blocks down from his house, and it was so strong that he’d stopped twice to look around him in the growing twilight for someone staring him down.

It was even worse right now. He’d felt eyes on him the moment that he stepped out of his house an hour-ish ago for his morning run, but he’d tried to shake it away when there was no one in sight. Now he was over halfway through his run and he could swear he was being followed and he was kind of really super sketched out.

He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk to look around for what felt like the fifteenth time, straining to hear past the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. It was just after sunrise, and the sidewalks were as quiet as they usually were. Except for a receding shuffle of footsteps from an elderly lady he’d passed a few paces back, he couldn’t hear anything but his own breathing.

He rotated slowly on his heel, scanning the area around him. He was nearly back into his neighborhood now, and the tiny plaza he was standing in front of was still dark. The gas station at the corner was quiet, with one empty car parked farthest from the entrance, and no one at the pumps, and the street itself was still mostly empty except for a beat-up white van, rattling up the street from the way he’d come. _Lucasta Cleaning Services_ , it said on the side. _Deepest clean, lowest price._ It headed down the street towards the intersection in front of him and slowed, taking a right turn into his neighborhood and disappearing from sight. There was no one else around. 

Prompto wiped a drip of sweat from his temple, trying to ignore the twist in his gut.

_There’s no one there, Prompto,_ he told himself. He didn’t really believe it, but if he kept on being paranoid he was gonna full-on freak out, and that was the last thing he needed on the first day of high school.

He drew in a deep breath and started off again, cutting across the parking lot of the plaza and into the alleyway that ran between the gas station and the plaza building. Puddles of murky water from last night’s rainstorm had gathered in cracks and potholes in the concrete, and he jumped over them, matching his breath to the rhythm of his shoes hitting the ground. 

A muffled rattle came from ahead, and he snapped his gaze up, looking for its source. A white van pulled into the mouth of the alleyway and halted there, blocking the way out. It was the same one from before, with blue bubbles and a pink scrub brush and _Lucasta Cleaning Service_ marked in fading pink script on both the hood and the side door. Prompto’s feet faltered beneath him, and he came to a stop, a current of electric anxiety running through him. 

The driver met his stare and narrowed his eyes, and Prompto heard the soft pop of the door latch releasing as the driver’s side door swung open and the man stepped out. He was holding a gun. 

Prompto froze, and everything in him screamed for him to _run._

So he did. He spun back toward the gas station and took off, not daring to look back despite the sound of footsteps, light and quick, approaching way too fast. 

There was a blur of movement up ahead, and someone stepped around the corner of the gas station. 

Oh thank gods there was someone else out this early—

Prompto caught a glimpse of the face hiding under the gray hood of the jacket, and his heart stuttered. Soft features, a tuft of blond hair falling into blue eyes. Expression carefully blank and focused. Freckles. _His_ freckles.

The person looked just like him, and they were blocking his way out of the alley. He was trapped. 

There wasn’t any time to speed up or slow down or think or fight back. The pursuer was already nearly on top of him, and then he was _right there,_ arms locked around his waist and tackling him with enough force to send him straight to the ground.

He flung his arms out to block his fall, but not fast enough to keep him from bashing his cheek on the cracked concrete beneath. He struggled to push himself up, sideways, away, but the weight at his back was solid and pinned him to the ground, and something sharp and cold bit into his neck.

His vision started to blur, and his stomach lurched like he was going to be sick. The weight lifted off his back, but he still felt too heavy to move. His right foot was cold.

He opened his mouth to call for help, or swear at his attacker, or do _something_ , but all that came out was a faint groan that sounded distant, like he was underwater. He felt himself being lifted up, away from the ground, thrown over someone’s shoulder. His arms hung loosely, and he didn’t even feel connected to them anymore.

“Grab his shoe,” he heard the man underneath him say. His voice was low, garbled. “Quick.”

The boy that looked like him was a gray smear as he leaned down for the shoe, but when he looked up for a second, Prompto was able to make out his face. Just barely.

He almost looked sorry.

Prompto’s vision speckled, fading into static. He tried to hang on, but darkness swallowed everything around him and sleep dragged him under.

—

The sound of the Lucasta van door slamming was like thunder in the early morning quiet, and Magitek Unit 05953234 blinked as his eyes readjusted to the smothering dimness of the van’s cargo space.

Vermis, the agent who had brought him here, had already crouched down and was removing Unit Two-eight’s left shoe. He threw it at Three-four, and it hit him in the chest. 

“Get moving,” he grunted, then started to peel off Two-eight’s tank top.

Three-four changed quickly, trading his clothes for each of the pieces Vermis chucked over. Nondescript gray hoodie for an equally nondescript tank top, plain jeans for pilly sweats, dusty hightops for old running shoes. The clothes were still damp with Two-eight’s sweat and they felt cold as they touched his skin. Vermis shoved something else at him, and Three-four snatched it before it fell onto the floor mats. A fuzzy green-and-white striped sweatband, well-worn and slightly stretched. He touched his right wrist lightly.

_My barcode._

He glanced over at Two-eight. The other MT unit had an obvious tan line around where the band had been, and the skin was paper white underneath the matching stark black lines etched over his wrist bones. It looked like he’d barely ever taken the thing off. A sharp, sour feeling squirmed in his gut as he pulled the band onto his own wrist, and he tried to squash it down.

“Keys,” Vermis said, tossing him a key ring that held two keys, a small green carabiner, and a little yellow keychain shaped like a chocobo. The keychain had a little spray of fluff in place of tail feathers, and it was soft when it hit his hand.

Vermis crept back to the van door, pulling it open. “Time to go, clone,” he said roughly.

Three-four dropped the keys into his pants pocket and crawled back out into the alley, blinking as the brightness hit his face again. The door slammed behind him, and Vermis brushed past him to get back to the driver’s seat, murmuring into his sleeve. “Made the drop. The new one’s on its way.”

The van rattled to life and cranked into gear behind him, and just like that, Vermis was gone and Three-four was alone. The world around him suddenly seemed huge. No more walls except for the ones at the Insomnian border, no more cameras every ten feet, just a vague list of directives: report to the Argentum household, integrate, gain footing with the Lucian Prince, await activation.

_This is it_.

He took a step, then another, and then started jogging across the street and under the cover of the trees on the residential sidewalk. 

The Argentum house was still dark when Three-four reached it. He took a deep breath, grabbed the house keys out of his pocket, then unlocked the door and went inside. The entryway was dim, lit only by the light leaking through from the kitchen up ahead. He slipped off his shoes and made his way cautiously down the hallway, looking around him. Family photographs lined the entryway, some of Two-eight alone, some of his parents, some with all three of them together. He stopped in front of a picture of Two-eight and his dad and stared. Two-eight was not much younger than him in the photograph—it had to have been taken maybe one, two years ago? They were in front of one of those Lucian fast food places—Kenny Crow’s?—seated at the bar, both with milkshakes in front of them, and Two-eight’s dad had his arm thrown over Two-eight’s shoulder. They both were smiling.

It looked genuine enough that Three-four could have believed it wasn’t staged.

“In here,” a voice called from the kitchen, interrupting him.

“Sorry, coming,” he responded, then took a step back from the picture and walked past the entryway and into the dining room. Sunlight was beginning to pour in through light blue curtains framing the back window, bathing the linoleum floor and the dining room table in a blinding golden glow and leaving the man sitting there in silhouette.

“Everything go smoothly?” The man—his _handler—_ pushed the laptop he’d been working on a little farther away from him and bumped out the chair next to him with his foot. He scanned Three-four critically, as if looking for defects or dissimilarities to the clone he was used to seeing.

“Yes, sir.” 

The handler frowned. “Dad. Not sir.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

Dad jerked his head at the chair, and Three-four sat down. “Is the-- Is Mom...?”

“She’s not here. Business trip.” Dad pulled off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with his shirt. He didn’t look anything like the other Niflheim agents Three-four had seen before. He easily passed as an Insomnian with his dark hair and Lucian features, and he had the build of someone who worked in an IT department rather than any sort of soldier. Though that was probably sort of the point.

“She’s a civilian. Right?”

Dad glanced up at him, a trace of irritation passing over his face. “Yes. Weren’t you debriefed?”

“Yes, s— Dad. I just wanted to confirm.” Three-four pressed his hands into his lap, resisting the urge to fiddle with his sweatband.

Dad was silent. He’d returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose and was clicking through something on his laptop. Then he extended a hand, flapping it impatiently. “Barcode.”

Three-four pulled off the sweatband and held his wrist out, and Dad swiped a finger over the tattoo and the tiny, pale scar underneath. The microchip under his skin wasn’t visible, but if you rubbed your finger over the right spot, it was easy to tell it was there. 

Dad took out a device the size and shape of a tiny black flash drive, but with switches on both sides and a faintly visible button on the top. Three-four had seen bigger versions of it before, back at the facilities. All of the officers working with his batch had carried them in case of accidents, along with a small, laminated list of kill codes. 

Dad tapped something on his laptop and the killswitch started blinking red, syncing up with the chip in Three-four’s wrist.

“They gave you the pre-doses for the memory transfusion regimen?”

Three-four tore his gaze away from the killswitch and blinked, looking at the blue pill box Dad had produced from somewhere.

“Um, yes. On the way here. I took the last one yesterday.”

“Good.” Dad slid the box over to him. “Transfusion tablet’s in today’s box. The Scourge suppressant regimen’s in the rest of ‘em. Keep that on you.”

Three-four cracked open the _Monday_ compartment, pulling out a tiny gray tablet no bigger than a breath mint. He’d been through the memory transfusion process once before at the facilities, when they were still testing clones to find the most compatible with the process. He’d been one of the lucky ones, one of the ones who’d gotten away with just migraines and blurry vision instead of being carted off to the labs or the incinerator, rotting from Scourge contracted from the cultures in the tablet. 

He remembered being told Starscourge carried genetic memory. Coupled together with DNA samples from a subject's memories, it was the most efficient way to transfer years’ worth of memories from one clone to another. It still grossed him out a little that he was probably ingesting some of Two-eight’s blood with every transfusion tablet, but apparently no one had found a better method than combining DNA samples with live Scourge culture and turning that into a pill. 

Three-four swallowed the pill dry and put the pill box into his pocket.

“You at least know your target?” Dad asked, returning to his laptop. 

Three-four nodded. They’d prepped every clone in his batch for this for as long as he could remember. “Prince Noctis.”

Dad didn’t look displeased, but he didn’t exactly look pleased, either. “If making contact today is not viable, don’t force it,” Dad said, returning to his laptop. “Prom— _the other clone_ managed to blunder himself into some sort of familiarity, so take your time and don’t fuck up that opening.”

“ _Can_ I make contact today?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course. _If it’s viable_. Pay attention.” Dad scowled. “Use your judgement, don’t take unnecessary risks. Remember, I can replace you in the blink of an eye.”

A vivid image of Two-eight’s confused, terrified face flashed into Three-four’s mind. He tried to shove it away. “Yes, sir.”

A quiet chime sounded from the computer, and Dad leaned in, hitting a few keys. “That’s it. You’re synced. Go get ready for school.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.” The words felt foreign coming out of Three-Four’s mouth, but he figured he’d better start practicing anyways. Dad didn’t look up, so he pushed his chair back and stood up to go find his room.

“Wait.”

Three-four looked back. Dad studied him for a moment from behind the computer screen with an unidentifiable expression on his face, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pill bottle, and tossed it to him. 

Three-four caught it and read the label. Pain medication. 

“For the headaches,” Dad clarified. He went back to his laptop without saying anything else, so Three-four took the cue, shoved the painkillers in his pocket alongside the Scourge suppressants, and stepped past the living room toward the stairs.

The house felt familiar, and the route up to his new living quarters was almost muscle memory in the fuzzy, weird sort of way that came with remembering things he’d never experienced. He wasn’t sure if it was the transfusion tablet he’d just taken, or the regimens he’d done before, but everything around him felt overwhelmingly bright and disconnected—like deja vu but ten times more intense. It all tumbled together with the dull memories of glowing fluorescent lights, cold metal hallways, the bite of needles on his skin, the feeling of running until he couldn’t breathe, the salty scent of ration bars and metallic water stored in canteens. The soft rhythm of snuffly sleeping breathing in a closed space, the comfort of being surrounded by other sleeping MT units and not being alone. 

That was all starting to seem a little further away now. 

The bedroom door faintly squeaked on its hinges as he pushed it open, and he paused, standing in the doorway for a second with his sock feet nestled at the edge of the blue and yellow rug that filled the floor space between the bed on the far wall and the desk beside the door. The sun was peeking in through blue curtains pulled halfway closed, throwing rays across the floor and chair and desk. 

There was a corkboard on the wall to his right, stuffed full with photographs. They’d introduced Prompto’s photography hobby back at the facility—it was a good method of subtle surveillance disguised as something innocuous and artistic. They’d all practiced it at some point during training, and Three-four had loved the feeling of having a camera in his hands, analyzing angles and lighting for the best shots, making normal things look nice or capturing a moment so it’d be frozen in time forever.

There was a digital camera sitting on the nightstand, just beside the bed. It was one of the smaller models, dark red, the kind with the retracting lense. Three-four walked over and picked it up, pressing the power button at the top. The screen flashed on, displaying a choppy logo animation, then went white as it booted up. Three-four plopped down on the bed, then flopped backwards onto it when it was even softer than he could have imagined.

It was unmade, and the soft, fuzzy yellow blanket that was crumpled beneath him felt like it was made of a cloud, unlike like the thin rough blankets back at the facility. There was a bump underneath him and he rolled over so that he could pick it up. It was a fluffy round thing, the same bright yellow as the blanket, with a soft orange beak, scratched black bead eyes, and stubby flaps on the sides that looked like they were supposed to be wings and a tail. It was lumpy and worn, but still recognizable as a chocobo, and it was made of the same soft microfiber as the blanket.

The camera chirped, and Three-four tucked the chocobo under his arm and sat up, clicking through to the gallery curiously. The first picture was of a fluffy white dog, pink tongue hanging out, and eyes barely visible past its coat. Then there was one of a sunrise that matched the view out his window. An artful shot angled up at the eaves of a house, where several tiny baby birds were peeking out of a birds nest affixed to the building. Then a picture of Two-eight, taken in the closet door mirror, no shirt, just sweats. Three-four started flicking back faster. 

There were a lot of selfies, it turned out. One for every day, according to the timestamps, all around the same time in the morning. Right around now. Three-four clicked back to the picture taking function, and contemplated for a second before dropping the chocobo on the bed and stripping off his shirt. Camera in hand, he crossed to the front of the closet and stood in front of its mirror door, the same way Two-eight had been standing. He raised the camera like Two-eight had in the selfies, but the motion felt clumsy in his fingers. He’d never taken a picture of himself before. The sound as he pressed the shutter release was loud in the stillness of the house.

He lowered the camera and pressed the view button. The selfie he’d taken matched the ones from before, same height, same angle—only him, and not Two-eight. It somehow felt weird to look at, so he shut off the camera and tossed it on the bed, then grabbed the school clothes he found in the closet and headed into the bathroom to shower. 

By the time he got downstairs, Dad was already gone. He’d closed the curtains and turned off all the lights, and it was dark enough that Prompto had to stand at the bottom of the staircase for a moment to let his eyes adjust. A school bag was leaned against the side of the couch in the living room—it was green and a little bit worn, and definitely looked like something that belonged to him. He crossed over and unzipped it, checking the contents—sure enough, school books and supplies. He wasn’t exactly sure what he needed but the bag seemed pre-packed, so he zipped it back up, flung it over his shoulder, and took one last look around the living room.

The couch and chairs, coffee table, and rug arranged around the TV seemed cozy and inviting, and so did the dining room and kitchen, with its matching warm wood furniture and cabinets, the cooking utensils and knick-knacks arranged neatly along the counters and walls. But the digital clock on the coffee pot blinked 00:00, and when he looked closely a thin layer of dust covered most of the surfaces around him. He’d imagined places like kitchens to smell strongly of food and coffee, but when he sniffed, he couldn’t smell anything at all. He’d always thought houses like this would be wonderful to live in and share with other people, but somehow now that he was alone it seemed as empty as the facility.

He shouldn’t have expected anything different. This was a mission, not his house, and it was stupid to think otherwise. He grabbed his keys from the table, yanked on his shoes, and headed out the door.

Taking the train wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, and he was easily able to settle into a seat close to an exit and stare out the window like everyone else. He was early to the school, but there were enough students already there that no one spared him a second glance. He followed the fuzzy transfusion memories to his locker, then headed out a door that led through the courtyard to the freshman classrooms on the other side, resisting the urge to hover by the entrance and watch for the Lucian Prince’s arrival. He didn’t really have much experience with making friends, but being a creep didn’t seem like a stellar way to get the Prince to like him.

His classroom was on the second floor, and its only exit aside from the windows was all the way across the room from his assigned desk. It was a little farther away than he felt comfortable with, but it’s not like he was going to be doing anything other than playing student for a while so he ignored the twinges of anxiety and sat down, taking out his camera to fiddle with it. A soft murmur by the window caught his attention, and he glanced up to see a couple of his classmates crowding close to the window.

“Is that _him_?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, that’s definitely him,” another responded. “He really does look the same as he does on TV.”

Three-four looked out the window and felt his heart rate pick up, just a little. The student in question was crossing the courtyard to the doors below, bag slung over his shoulder and hands in his pockets. Three-four recognized the black, immaculately styled hair from photos, the unhurried gait that was made to seem casual but was probably just hiding a limp from a childhood injury. It was definitely the Lucian Prince.

Three-four sucked in a breath and leaned down to cram his camera back into his backpack, then pulled out some of his books so that he could continue to look busy. _Come on,_ he told himself. _Don’t freak out now_.

Prince Noctis entered the classroom without any fanfare and sat down quietly at his desk, pulling out his phone. Three-four watched him out of the corner of his eyes as he created subject partitions in an empty notebook. Other students started filtering in, but no one talked to him, even though Three-four could hear hushed whispers and see them glancing in his direction. Prince Noctis didn’t look up at all, a little too intensely focused on what was on his phone screen until the teacher came in for homeroom.

It was hard not to fidget once class started. Like, really hard. All of the classes were way easier than everything Three-four had done back at the facility, and he found himself taking notes just to keep his hands busy. He was doing pretty well until Lucian Literature, when a distinctive chime interrupted the teacher’s lecture, twice in a row, and he realized it was coming from his phone. Oh.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and sank down in his seat to turn off the sound, feeling the pressure of every set of eyes in the classroom on him, plus the teacher’s disapproving stare. _Way to call negative attention to yourself, bud._

He kept his head down until the teacher resumed her lecture, but when he looked up again, he caught Prince Noctis watching him out of the corner of his eye. He looked away when Three-four glanced over, but not before their eyes met for a split second.

Hmm. Maybe the Prince really did remember him.

It felt like three years before lunch hit, and as soon as the teacher left the room everything exploded into chatter and noise. Three-four didn’t have anything for lunch, so he pulled out his algebra textbook and pretended to do math problems while watching Prince Noctis pull out a lunch box—the fancy stackable kind that had three different compartments—and open the lids to scrutinize the contents. He capped one of the containers without touching it at all, picked bits out of the second, and ate all of what looked like a piece of cake out of the third before putting the whole box back under his desk and pulling out his phone again.

Wasting food. Seemed like something a prince would do. 

Three-four stole a glance over. Prince Noctis was just sitting there now, quietly tapping at his phone. He didn’t really look around him at the other students and no one else really seemed to get too close to him, although there were definitely a few students sneaking pictures from the edge of the classroom. From the careful way he rested his cheek on his hand, obscuring his face, it seemed like he was trying really hard to ignore it, rather than being completely oblivious to it.

Three-four tapped his pencil eraser on his desk. This was his chance. He could go now, before anyone else approached him, or Prince Noctis made any other friends, and just start a conversation—

Prince Noctis stood, stretched, wandered to the door and then left the classroom.

_Damn it._

Three-four stayed plastered his seat for a second, twirling his pencil between his fingers indecisively.

Screw it. The best time was now.

He stuck his pencil between the pages of his math book and closed it, then stood up and meandered into the hallway just in time to see Prince Noctis disappearing down the stairs that led back to the courtyard. With a deep breath, he readjusted his wristband over his barcode and tried to ignore the sudden pounding in his skull. Something, a memory, flickered into his mind with a rush of pain as he stepped out after him—

_—the sudden, smarting pain as he smacks face-first into the ground—_

_—the familiar hard casing of the red camera as he offers it up for inspection—_

_—a solid grip of a pair of hands straining to pull him up—_

_—”You’re heavy”—_

“Hey, Prince Noctis!” Three-four jogged up behind him, and slapped him on the back.

Prince Noctis turned to stare at him, a noise of surprise coming out of his mouth. He didn’t look angry, just startled. 

_Just start talking don’t give him a chance to walk away—_ “I’m Prompto. Nice to meet you!”

Prince Noctis gave him the same puzzled stare he’d turned on him in the classroom when his phone went off. “Don’t I know you?”

_—The sound of sneakers pattering on the concrete around the corner and away from him—_

_—The sour feeling of humiliation sinking into his gut—_

_—Prince Noctis’s voice floating back to him, and wanting to disappear—_

An embarrassed laugh slipped out of Three-four’s mouth, but the Prince relaxed, a ghost of a smile chasing away all remnants of the bored and stormy look he had before. Reaching out, he smacked Three-four on the back, mimicking the greeting. “Nice to meet you, Prompto.” He studied him for a second. “Weren’t we in the same middle school? I think we talked once before.”

Three-four rubbed his ear. “Uh, yeah. Like a couple years ago ish? Kinda cool we’re in the same class again, huh?”

Prince Noctis shrugged. “Yeah. I was wondering if I’d see you around again.”

“Same, dude.” Three-four studied him, watching for a reaction to the familiarity.

Prince Noctis didn’t seem bothered. If anything, he seemed to relax even more. “I was gonna go get a soda,” he said, a question in his eyes.

“Sounds good to me.” Three-four shrugged and grinned, then followed him across the courtyard to the machine.

“You play King’s Knight, right?” Prince Noctis asked as he waited for his can to fall.

Three-four’s head was actually throbbing now. A migraine was creeping steadily in, and he hadn’t taken one of the painkillers yet. He reached past it and pulled together a blurry image of the mobile game in his mind.

The can clattered into the machine and Prince Noctis reached down to pick it up. “I heard your phone go off. Mine has the same ringtone for King’s Knight notifications.”

“Yeah. Wait—you play, too?”

The can hissed as Prince Noctis cracked it open. “Yeah, I started right when it came out.”

Things were starting to flood in, feeling almost like instinct rather than memory. Three-four’s vision blurred, but he blinked and focused on the conversation instead of the headache. “Hey, me too! I saw all the previews and downloaded it right when it went live so I could get the Day One boost and that extra sword.”

Prince Noctis’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, me too. My shie— uh, my friend Gladio kept making fun of me but he joined two days later and he still hasn’t caught up to me yet.”

_Gladio. Gladiolus. That’s his bodyguard._ “Right? I feel like that sword gave you so much of an edge at the start because you couldn’t get any other five star weapons until you got to level 25 at least.”

Prince Noctis smirked. “That’s what I said.” he glanced at the soda machine. “You gonna get anything?”

“Nahh, I’m good.”

Prince Noctis gave him a look, as if he expected Three-four to say something else, but when he didn’t, he seemed to relax slightly and took a step back across the courtyard toward the classrooms.

“Which Kingdom are you a part of?” Three-four asked, falling in step beside Prince Noctis. Memories of the game were starting to fall into place, and he could almost feel the way his fingers needed to dance over the screen for dodging and blocking and special attacks. 

“Ocean. What about you?”

“I’ve kind of been skipping around. I started out in the Forest kingdom, but I moved to the Mountain one after awhile. I’m in the Sky one right now.”

Prince Noctis made a _hmm_ noise. “You should give me your player code. Maybe we could play together at some point on one of the cross-Kingdom collabs.”

“Oh yeah. That’d be awesome!” Three-four pulled out his phone and started swiping through, looking for the King’s Knight app. “Did you do the monthly monster hunt yet?”

“I was gonna but I got busy. You?”

“Not yet. Dude, we should totally collab on that one!”

Prince Noctis shrugged, an easy smile on his face but Three-four could hear the excitement humming beneath his words. “Sounds good.”

Above, the bell buzzed. 

Three-four looked up, alarmed. “Crap, already?”

Prince Noctis’s eyes flickered up towards the window, then back down to the door. “We can make it if we run.”

Three-four grinned. “Race ya.”

There was that look of surprise again, quickly covered up by a smirk. “You’re on,” he said, then took off before Three-four had the chance to respond.

Three-four scrambled after him, easily keeping pace. Prince Noctis was definitely faster than he seemed like he would be, and sprinting up the stairs a few at a time seemed to take barely any effort. He was barely out of breath by the time they skidded to a stop at the door of the classroom, _just_ before class started.

Huh.

Three-four slid into his seat by the window and looked over to Prince Noctis and shot him a thumbs-up, and received another grin in return. 

This was going well.

This was actually going pretty well.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on after that, but with the distraction of how successful lunch had turned out to be, it wasn’t quite as agonizing as the morning classes. As soon as the last hour bell buzzed, Three-four tossed everything back into his backpack and made his way to Prince Noctis’s desk, the King’s Knight app already open on his phone. “I’m guessing you didn’t take the train,” he said with a rueful grin. 

“No, sorry.” Prince Noctis actually looked apologetic as he swung his backpack over his shoulder and started migrating for the door.

Three-four shook his head, following. “Nah, it’s cool! I was kidding. Do you still want the player code though?”

“Oh, yeah.” Prince Noctis pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it on. It was a sleek black model, different than any that Prompto had ever seen, and had a small gold insignia on the back lower left corner. A flower shape with four petals—the Lucis Caelum family crest.

Three-four vaguely remembered something about the royal family having their own private cell phone network for security purposes. 

They halted just outside the entrance to the school to exchange player codes, and Three-four watched the notification pop up on his screen. “Got it!”

“Yeah, me too. Play later?” Prince Noctis looked hopeful.

“Sure!”

“Cool. I’ll be on around four, I’ve got—wait—” he cut himself off, squinting at his screen in the sunlight. “Oh. My ride’s here.”

Three-four could see a shiny black luxury car pulling up out of the corner of his eye. _Definitely not ready to meet the bodyguards yet._ “Oh yeah, I gotta catch my train. See you tomorrow, Prince Noctis!”

“Just call me Noct.”

Three-four grinned, waving as he took off towards the street before anyone from the car could see too much of him. “See ya, Noct!”

Noct waved back. “See you, Prompto.”

He got out of the sightline as quickly as possible and practically ran back to the train station. The ride home felt longer than it had in the morning, and he ended up pulling out his phone to see if he could figure out King’s Knight on the ride back home. It reminded him vaguely of battle simulations back at the production facility, but way less intense and way nicer to look at. He got a handle on the controls fairly quickly and he wasn’t quite sure if it was easy, or just the scourge memories helping him out. He completed a few of the game missions before the train arrived at his stop, then checked Noct’s status before closing the app. Not online yet.

The house was dark and empty when he got back, the same way that he’d left it, but it somehow felt a little less like the facility than it had this morning. He kicked off his shoes in the entryway, then dropped his house keys onto one of the key hooks on the wall and went upstairs to his room. His phone buzzed as he set his backpack down next to his desk, and he picked it up, expecting a message from Noct.

It wasn’t.

_Dad: school go well?_

Right. That. He unlocked the screen and typed back. _Yes. I got a chance to talk Prince Noctis today_

_Dad:_ _good to hear_

Then, nothing else. 

Three-four pulled open the curtains so that light from outside fell into the room and across the bed, warm and bright, then plopped into the soft blankets, a satisfied feeling burning in his chest. His stomach was growling, and his head still ached a little, but it wasn’t too bad with the pain meds still in effect. Dad seemed okay, and he’d already managed to befriend the Lucian Prince on the _first day_ and get contact information, even if it was just through a game. It was a good start. 

His phone buzzed again. Three-four pulled it out of his pocket and read the banner.

**_+Prince+_ ** _has sent you an invite. Log in to join their party!_

Prompto felt a smile growing on his face as he slid the banner to the side and tapped _join_. 


End file.
